


A Touch of Kindness

by Hoodoo



Series: A Sin and A Virtue [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Branding, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hair Brushing, M/M, Opposites Attract, Tattoos, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Wrath is volatile and dangerous, but Kindness can't help but touch him.  (rating to increase later in the series)





	A Touch of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> [dorklyevil](https://dorklyevil.tumblr.com/) is incredible. Not only is she an talented artist and writer, she is generous with her creations and time. This [little comic ](https://dorklyevil.tumblr.com/post/178104665041/he-has-a-calming-effect-indeed-and-his-hair) between Wrath Rick and her OC Kindness Rick is just so awesome, I was compelled to write something to pair with it.

Sometimes the Mortys dare.

They dare to touch him. Something a bit like counting coup, I suppose. It’s a dangerous activity and it wouldn’t surprise me if it was one of their gang initiations. I wish they wouldn’t. Some Mortys don’t fare well while they’re trying to earn the respect of the other Mortys. Some of them end up dead.

There are lots of things I wish. I wish there weren’t the Morty gangs; that someRick would treat them well and take them out of the ghetto. I wish that he had the ability to be calm, to be gentle.

But that’s like asking the winds to stop blowing, or gravity to stop, or me to go against my innate nature.

He is who he is, and all I can do is accept it.

I will admit once I laid a hand on him, in curiosity.

Before he spun, swinging a hard punch that I stepped backwards to avoid, I learned he wasn’t tattooed.

He was branded.

That was fascinating to me. I, like the Mortys, risked doing it again. My fingers were able to trace the large ess scarred into his left shoulder blade before he roared and swung at me again.

I stood my ground, this time.

I caught his fist, and negated the strike.

I wasn’t strong enough to push him backwards. He wasn’t strong enough to overpower me either.

People seem to forget that Rick Sanchez’s kindness was equal to his wrath. I wasn’t as obvious as Wrath, tending to be held deeper in his psyche. But I was just as strong, and just as determined.

When he was unable to physically complete the act of punching me, Wrath roared his frustration wordlessly. It was a sound that would have cowed a lesser Rick.

“Sit with me,” I suggested.

He spit, literally, spit at me. I didn’t let that affect me. I released his fist and produced the hairbrush tucked into my belt, asking if he would brush my hair. It was a ritual between us, now.

Wrath grumbled and tried to find a reason to decline, but I pushed the hairbrush into his hand, and sat on a bench near him. He followed, sat down, and began running the boar’s bristled brush through the ends of my hair.

It pulled at first; it always took some time for him to calm. But between angrily recounting the last time a Morty tried to touch him, or a Rick crossed him, or any of the other annoyances in life that set his blood boiling, he gradually began brushing smoother and smoother strokes. It was pleasant.

My hair was long enough that I was able, after he’d relaxed as much as Wrath could relax, to twist in my seat and politely ask to touch the brands on his bicep. He wanted to protest, I could tell, but allowed it.

My fingers slipped from unblemished skin over the raised, thickened scar. They followed it, like a trail on a map.

Wrath watched my hand. Although his nostrils flared, he breathed through his mouth. I knew it was from the adrenaline that never truly left his system. He was always ready to react violently.

But my fingers on him seemed to calm him a little more.

I brushed the mark on his shoulder, and discovered it was a tattoo. He was a mix of ink and the granulated tissue from old wounds. I wondered if they were self-inflicted, but didn’t get the chance to ask.

“You’re too nice,” he growled at me.

I shrugged. “I am what I am.”

Wrath lifted his upper lip like he was going to snap something back. To my surprise–-and his too, I believe-–he didn’t.

“Everyone can use a little kindness,” I told him.

He grunted and I took that as a positive response. He continued brushing my hair. I continued my feather-light touches to his chest and arm. He seemed to like it; maybe it was something novel, a touch that wasn’t painful or fueled by a dare? I didn’t know.

If anyone was surprised that Kindness and Wrath were sharing a bench peacefully, no one had the nerve to make a remark about it.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Check out [dorklyevil's](https://dorklyevil.tumblr.com/) tumblr for more! Here is a comic about the first time Kindness encountered Wrath, called [Death Match](https://dorklyevil.tumblr.com/post/178573941546/origins-wrath-and-kindness-yeah-sooo-i-pictured). 
> 
> And if you'd like to see all the Sin Ricks (from Pocket Mortys) and their Virtue counterparts, please check it out [here](https://dorklyevil.tumblr.com/post/178048889831/wow-i-spent-time-on-this-one-lololol-but-here-the) ! They are divine!


End file.
